Rated: probably PG - R
Warnings: Blair angst galore, AU-land, this sure isn't Kansas (or Washington) anymore.

Rafe stopped the motion of the wheelchair, and opened the restroom door. He assisted Blair with a hand wrapped around his elbow, in through the door. Blair leaned on the counter as Rafe deposited the bag of clothes beside him.

Rafe turned on the shower, adjusting the water temperature, drawing back his lips over his teeth, in a snarling smile. Oh yes, there may be a change a-coming soon. A new sentinel assigned to their department, and thanks to his lover in the SNGRF, he'd be prepared to make his move. First a promotion after that fucking Taggart was thrown out on his fat ass, and then...he had plans for Ellison's wild daughter and her know-it-all Guide, that whorin' Cassie, turning him down, just because of a stupid oath of sexual fidelity she'd made...

The temperature evened to his satisfaction. He growled at the impostor. "Strip!"

Rafe growled at the impostor. "Strip!" And his eyes positively sparkled at the enjoyment coming, huh, cummin, his way. Rafe nearly chortled at his pun.

Blair opened his lips and smiled, showing his teeth. A wolfish sneer. "Go to hell, Rafe. I'm not taking my robe off for you. I'm not a prisoner. I haven't been charged with a crime an' you're not my jailer."

Rafe advanced, his fingers idly caressing his gun, expecting this pitiful weakling to back down. He was shocked when Blair faced him bravely, and jabbed him in the chest with an index finger bending his CPD badge. "Go and stand by the door like a good boy, better yet, stand out Side the door. If you think I'm gonna let you get your jollies watching me take a shower, well, the big disappointment truck is pulling into your driveway. Get Out!"

To the young officer those authoritative words came from a man used to being obeyed, and Rafe was trained to be obedient to the CPD's Guide. He stalked out the door to guard it, hands behind his back, at attention, his eyes flickering back and forth, wondering where Taggart had gone. Maybe I have time to make a phone call to her at her office before Joel the Elephant stomps back in.

Blair stepped in the shower. I'm alone! And he felt tears sting his eyes. Alone for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. His eyes closed, he held his head under the stream, letting the cascade...

Cascade.

He opened his eyes and choked. The blue water covered him, painting his chest aquamarine, it glistened in his chest hair, pooled in his navel, ran in a waterfall down his legs, doused his manhood in spots. He slid down against the wall, and bowed his head against the pressure, letting the artificial rain soak his hair. If it could only wash me away...Where is here?

I need you, Jim. I'm lost and I want my real mother. My mother in diaphanous scarves, not a hideous Mrs. Cleaver 1958 housewife-gone-to-the-city for a day of shopping dress. And My mother abhors snakes. She wouldn't touch 'em, much less wrap one around her wrist.

I want My gentle Jim who'd never lay a finger on me except in a lover's caress or to smooth out my hair, or to tuck it behind my ear under my glasses...oh God...

Maybe if I could get away from these nutcases, I could start thinking more logically. And wait a minute, what did that Alex Barnes clone say--if the Earth-2 Blair's kidnappers only knew of the sexual relationship between this world's sentinel and guide that had increased Jim's link with him...Can I use that info...and what in the hell was the SNGRF? Is the outside world upside down, too?

Blair pulled himself up and began soaping his hair, ignoring the blue suds. No, I've got to be strong! No more wimpy-teacher acts, no more lay down like a rug and let 'em walk all over me, No! I'm going to pull this sadistic creep out of his zone, make a deal with him, help him find his Bla...uh...guide who may be a shaman.

Can this world's Blair zap me home? Maybe he's in My home right now, cooking Jim some pasta, holding up the wooden ladle for Jim to test out the Sentinel tastebuds and Jim would always give me a taste of that sauce right off his own lips then.

Maybe Jim's watching the news, and this Blair goes to the sofa and crawls into Jim's lap, unbuttoning his shirt, nuzzling on Jim's nipples, caressing Jim's smooth chest with his curls. Maybe Blair pulled Jim away from the remote control, tugged him upstairs to the bed and treated him to one of Jim's fave turn ons-- laving Jim's naked body with my tongue and drying the wetness with my hair as a towel.

Would he kiss and nibble Jim's toes and arches like he did, and draw lazy circles over his ankles? Would that Blair burrow under Jim's legs and suckle the backs of his knees? Would he lay his face upon Jim's hard belly and swirl his tongue in his navel, and get thrilled when Jim laughed in delight? My Jim's hands would tug playfully at this man's curls, and say, "come on up here, Chief; wanna see how dark your eyes are, now", and that Blair would sensually slide up Jim's body and bring Jim's hairy forearm around his neck and reach down his lips to My lover....

"Blair, son, you clean yet?" Joel called from outside the shower door. Heart panting like an animal chased by a hunter, Blair slammed his fists upon his thighs and twisted the taps off.

"Yeah, Joel, hand me a towel? I'll be right out."

When the towel was shoved through the door, Blair slammed it shut again. He began rubbing the terry cloth roughly over his face, especially over his eyes. The towel soaked up tears and blue water, dying it a pale sapphyric shade. The towel dropped to the wet floor on top of the drain, out of his shaking hands.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. His fingers began tingling with sharp prickles. His hands felt like anthropomorphic dart boards. Had the local Dr. Frankenstei...oh God, their medical consultant is Dr. David Lash...Blair made fists and beat them upon his thighs. The darting stings subsided into numbness. Had Lash given him some kind of weird shit after he'd puked up his intestines in Ellison's office?

"Son?"

Blair's heart slammed up toward his throat, beating with the frenzied rhythm of a Chopec war chant. Catching the few drips seeping from the leaking shower head, he wet the roof of his dry as desert-sand mouth so he could speak. Blair bent down to retrieve the damp towel, his knees cracking like those belonging to an arthritic old man getting out of his sick bed. "Yeah, yeah, comin', Joel."

Quickly, he swiped the spottishly wet cloth over his back and chest, the inkiness staining him slightly. He made a hasty loin wrap and stepped outside. Joel had emptied the bag and unfolded the clean clothing for him. Those brown eyes softened as he gently patted Blair's shoulder. "There's a brush and toothpaste, razor, everything I could dig up for you, here on the counter."

Blair looked down at the ugly hospital floor tiles and asked, "How's Capt. Ellison--I can skip the toiletries if..."

The big detective smiled to reassure the young man everyone was calling the Impostor. But Mrs. Sandburg now...

"Joel, what's happening with J...uh...Ellison?"

"Don't worry about it, son, I just checked with Mrs. Sandburg and she says they've got an e.m.t. standing by, with oxygen, ready to resuscitate him with electrical shocks. He's as comfortable as they could make him. They've brought him down here to the private emergency room."

"What about Doc...Doc Lash, he's in there with him."

Joel was stunned by that remark. This young man truly did not know the Ways of the Sentinel and the Guide. He definitely did not belong here. "You don't know what to do for him, do you, do you know anything...you're definitely not the Guide, are you? Where are you from?"